


transcend this

by hoosierbitch



Series: transvengers [1]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: F/M, Friendship, Insecurity, M/M, Other, Revelations, Transgender, True Love, transvengers assemble
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-23
Updated: 2015-01-23
Packaged: 2018-03-08 19:22:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,769
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3220526
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hoosierbitch/pseuds/hoosierbitch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This contains different pieces written for the Transvengers Initiative, angsty and sweet and sexy in turns. Thus far: Clint interrupts a make-out session to make a confession, Steve Rogers fails at job interviews, a spider takes over Clint's closet, and Thor loves Jane.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. there's a spider in my closet

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for the [transvengers assemble](http://transvengersassemble.tumblr.com/) prompt meme, which can be [found here](http://hoosierbitch.tumblr.com/post/107939142063/transvengers-prompt-meme). The original post [is here](http://hoosierbitch.tumblr.com/post/108400110868/for-the-transavengers-meme-how-about-clintnat).

At first, it didn’t happen every day. It couldn’t—with their different areas of expertise, sometimes they didn’t even cross paths for months at a time.

Clint came back from most missions with his bow and a half-full duffel bag. Natasha came back with bags and bags and boxes. Her wardrobe grew with every undercover assignment, requiring different dresses and combat uniforms and lingerie and endless pairs of heels. Clint mostly wore variations on cargo pants and combat boots. Once, he dressed up like a giant cell phone, but they didn’t talk about that mission. 

They didn’t talk about this, either. 

The first few times, he didn’t notice. When she was new enough to SHIELD that he still wasn’t sure how to pronounce her last name, she would come to his room once or twice a week, steal a hoodie, and sharpen her knives while glaring at him. 

Good times. 

After a couple of months he requisitioned a second hoodie. He didn’t offer it to her, because they were both very bad at presents, and she developed a knack for always borrowing the hoodie he’d worn most recently. 

He’d thought it was a comfort thing. A Clint- and hoodie-specific quirk. But then it became a consistent ritual: after missions she would come to his quarters, take off her clothes and shoes and underwear and kick them under the bed, and raid the mess of his closet for the softest, baggiest ensemble available.

He asked her about the clothes—his and hers and the switcheoos—a couple of times. She always got tense and evasive, so he kept his mouth shut and his eyes open and did whatever he could to make his friend happy. 

Eventually, he got his own apartment off SHIELD property. She helped him move in, showing up for the day in tight jeans and white sneakers and a form-fitting tank top. By the time the boxes were settled and vaguely sorted and the pizza was on its way, she was wearing a pair of his flannel pants, a SHIELD t-shirt that he’d actually stolen from Coulson, the older hoodie, grey socks, and a knit cap that covered all but the ends of her hair. 

When her next birthday rolled around, Clint, who was determined to Get Good At Presents, decided to try and take things a step further. He figured there was a chance that Tasha just liked wearing comfy clothes, and that stealing his was simply more convenient than getting her own, but it seemed like more than that. She kept nail polish remover but no nail polish in his bathroom. She hid her hair whenever she got tired. Her posture shifted when she changed her clothes, becoming somehow more confident and more relaxed.

So, for her birthday, Clint got her three different outfits: the same functional, dark-colored clothing that he liked, but in a smaller size. All of it came from the men’s department of a clothing store that Coulson had told him was nice. He’d debated about including underwear, but finally decided that if she didn’t want it, it would be awkward, but if she did, it would make her happy.

She wasn’t happy. She looked at the piles of clothes in their torn newspaper wrapping, turned on her heel, and left. She went radio silent for three weeks. Then she turned up one morning, sitting on top of his kitchen counter, wearing her new clothes and their oldest hoodie and drinking a cup of coffee. 

They didn’t talk about it for a year.

Then, for her next birthday, Clint made her a butterscotch cake and asked if she would like it if he called her Nate. 

She was quiet for a long time. He finished two bottles of beer and she ate the icing off about half the cake. Then she said, “Nat is better. You could use that all the time.” He nodded; she kept eating. Then, softly, “Nat could be short for Nathan.” 

He looked at her, and she squared her shoulders and met his gaze full-on. He smiled, and said, “Thanks, Nat.” She recycled the beer bottles and he wrapped up the cake. 

For a long, long time, it was just between the two of them. She was master of the quick change, and could be out of his clothes and back in her in a matter of moments. But about a month after her birthday, Coulson came over with donuts, a stack of paperwork, and a migraine, and she stayed in the clothes she was comfortable in. She slouched around the edges of the apartment looking strangely out of place until Coulson tossed her a beer, said he liked her boots, and asked if she could please help him decipher Bobbi Morse’s mission reports. 

After it happened a few times without Coulson even raising an eyebrow, she told Coulson to call her Nat. He asked her if she wanted them to use male pronouns. She said yes before Clint figured out what Coulson was talking about. 

Clint had loved Natasha like a sister for years. It didn’t take long for him to learn to love Nat like a brother.


	2. Clint/Sam, "about to hook up with someone who doesn’t know"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Okay. This didn’t look bad.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was written for the [transvengers assemble](http://transvengersassemble.tumblr.com/) prompt meme, which can be [found here](http://hoosierbitch.tumblr.com/post/107939142063/transvengers-prompt-meme). The original post [is here!](http://hoosierbitch.tumblr.com/post/108214597223/ooh-ooh-ooh-please-to-be-having-6-with-much)

Okay. This didn’t look bad.

He’d gotten Sam’s shirt off while they were still in the hallway, and now Sam had him pressed up against his apartment door and was kissing the hell out of him, so things could be a lot worse. Clint ran a hand down Sam’s torso, because holy abs, Batman. Sam’s early morning runs with Steve were seriously paying off.

So it didn’t look bad. It just looked like gay sex.

Which it was!

Mostly.

Spiritually, anyway. Just…not nakedly.

"So, uh, we should talk," Clint said, looking at the wet mark he’d been sucking on Sam’s neck instead of meeting his eyes. "About. Stuff." He thought about it for a minute. "Sex stuff," he elaborated.

Sam leaned back, giving Clint a great view of his half-smile, his abs, and also his, uh. His pants region.

Aw, erection, yes.

"Can you elaborate on that, Barton?"

"Yes," he said. Then, "No," because he’d rather get chased down a sewer by a hundred guys in neon tracksuits than have the sweet expression on Sam’s face turn into something more familiar. Clint’s pretty used to disgust, discomfort, and disappointment, but not from Sam. Not yet, anyway.

"Give it a shot."

"Was that pun intentional?" he asked hopefully.

"Barton." Sam was starting to sound a little less than amused.

Clint cleared his throat, gave Sam’s abs a long look goodbye, and dove into the awkwardness that was his big reveal. “You ever heard of trans people before?”

The smile on Sam’s face kind of…faded. And he took a small step back. “Yes, Clint, I have heard of trans people.”

Clint crossed his arms over his chest, over the layers of binder and t-shirt and flannel and hoodie that served as better armor than his kevlar. “I kind of. Am one.” He squinted at Sam, whose expression hadn’t changed. “Tada?” He very maturely restrained the urge to do jazz hands.

"You’re just now telling me this?" Sam asked.

Clint kind of wished he wasn’t between Sam and the exit. “It kind of seemed like the opportune time.”

"No, it was the last possible time, because I was about two seconds from asking if I could put my hands down your pants."

"The answer was yes," Clint said. "FYI. I just figured I’d warn you that there’s a bit less in my pants than you expected." He shrugged. "If you could not tell everyone, that would be cool. But. Anyway." He tried to move away, but Sam leaned forward again, trapping Clint between his arms and giving him a thoughtful look.

"You could have told me earlier," Sam said. "You know that, right?"

Clint closed his eyes. He wasn’t such a glutton for punishment that he needed to see Sam’s disappointment up close. “Yeah. I just…” He was just greedy. He’d wanted every second of Sam’s attention that he could get. “I fucked up.”

"Hey. Can you look at me?"

Clint sighed, but did as he was told. Sam didn’t look angry yet, but his forearms were still braced on the door, bracketing Clint in tight. “If you’re going to hit me,” he said, “know that I will hit you back.”

"If you could maybe try not to assume the worst about me right off the bat, that would be helpful," Sam said, "because I have no problem with you being trans. Zero problems. I do have a problem with people I’m intimate with not being honest about how they’re feeling." Slowly, he moved his right hand, and touched the side of Clint’s face. "Right now, I’m guessing that you don’t feel safe, or sexy, or happy. Am I right?"

Clint shrugged. And kind of leaned into Sam’s hand.

"Do you like me?" Sam asked.

Clint shrugged again. Then sighed, and said, “Yes. You are ridiculously hot and also smart and you fly, which is unexpectedly sexy, and you might be the nicest person I’ve ever met. Except for Natasha.” She’d only tried to kill him the once. And she’d even apologized for it afterwards.

"I really want to kiss you," Sam said. "And give you at least one very visible hickey, and see how many piece of furniture we can break while having really acrobatic circus sex. It would be cool if we did that today, but I’m a patient guy."

Clint looked at Sam as closely as he could, but he didn’t see any hint of a lie. “It doesn’t bother you that I—I don’t have a dick? And that I’ve got boobs?”

"No. Does it bother you?"

He sounded like he was asking honestly, so Clint shook his head. “Not really. Not like it used to. Plus, I’ve, uh. I do have a dick. A lot of them, actually. Some are sparkly. One’s purple.” The purple one had been a present from Natasha.

Sam’s grin turned predatory and the hand that had been resting along the curve of Clint’s cheek moved up into his hair, fingernails tracing a sharp line. “Hot.”

Clint swallowed, then put his hands on Sam’s hips and pulled him forward, until the tense line of his own body was pressed against Sam’s…everything. “Really?”

"Really really."

"Okay." Cool. "Hey. Want to try and break the couch?"

"I thought you’d never ask."


	3. Steve & Sam "no-powers AU, searching for a job post-transition"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Why does McDonalds need to know what I have in my pants?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was written for the [transvengers assemble](http://transvengersassemble.tumblr.com/) prompt meme, which can be [found here](http://hoosierbitch.tumblr.com/post/107939142063/transvengers-prompt-meme). The original post [is here!](http://hoosierbitch.tumblr.com/post/107959170838/for-the-transvengers-prompt-meme-how-about-steve)

"It’s the godda—it’s the stupid forms, Sam." Steve slaps a stack of applications on the card table, which wobbles with a worried squeak. "Why does McDonald’s need to know what I have in my pants, huh?"

He glares at the papers. They don’t run away.

Sam sighs and points at the chair across from him until Steve sits. “Your interview didn’t go well, then? Or—did it go too well? If a McDonald’s manager asks you to come to their casting couch and show them your mozzarella stick, you just yell for an adult.”

Steve switches his glare from the black and white ticky boxes on the forms to Sam’s overly-earnest expression. “I didn’t even make it that far.”

"Dream big, tiny dancer."

He puts his hands on the table and braces himself to stand. He doesn’t have time for this. He has to get a job, pay rent, get a life, he can’t just—the card table gives out underneath him, sending a graceful wave of paper across the floor. _Goddamnit_. He says “Sorry,” to Sam, the applications, and the room at large, before crouching to start picking things up.

He forgets, sometimes, when he’s frustrated and tired, that he doesn’t have the body he’d grown up in. He weighs more now. He has more muscle mass. Dr. Erskine’s treatments and years in the army, honing his body into a weapon, have piled on a significant amount of muscle mass.

The papers barely weigh a thing.

"I know you lied on about a bazillion enrollment forms when you were trying to enlist," Sam says, offering him a hand up. "Can you tell me why this is so much harder?"

His mouth twists in a miserable grin. “It doesn’t feel like the truth,” he says with a shrug. Standing in a McDonald’s restaurant, trying to apply for a normal, regular, civilian job, he’d wanted to run into the bathroom just to breathe for a minute. To get away from the rush and the smells and the press of people. But he hadn’t wanted to hide in the men’s room or the women’s room. “Sometimes I miss backpacking across enemy territory in the rain,” he says.

"I feel ya," Sam replies. He takes the applications out of Steve’s hands, shuffles them neatly, and tosses them in the trash.

"You have a recycling bin,” Steve protests.

"And when you finish your application for the hall monitor position, I’ll let you tell me all about it. I wouldn’t want to get any demerits."

"I could get you fined for littering," Steve says. He’s glaring and grinning, which is a weird thing that seems to happen a lot when Sam’s around.

"I can’t hear you," Sam replies, looking around vaguely and holding a hand to his ear. "I can’t hear you past the sound of all the officer’s training programs you haven’t completed yet. I think SWAT’s accepting, actually."

"If you’re trying to get me a job, maybe don’t throw away all my applications."

"Maybe if you apply for something that you care about, then you won’t let me steal your applications."

No one else in the room is listening, but Steve can’t help but keep his voice down. He might look like a healthy, all-American man, but he hasn’t always. “Me ‘caring’ about something isn’t going to get rid of the ‘Male’ and ‘Female’ questions on the applications. Or the signs on the restrooms, or the ‘Mr’ or ‘Mrs’ issue, or—”

"So leave a line on the application blank. Tell them all to call you ‘Captain.’ Or tell them to add a fucking ‘Trans’ option to the application, if you’d rather check that." Sam spreads his arms wide. "Steve, if anyone told you this was going to be easy, I suggest you find them, and you kick them in the head. It’s hard. It’s really fucking hard. And even though nobody’s shooting at you, and you’re finally in the body you feel like you’re supposed to be in, it’s still going to be hard." Steve can feel his jaw clench. His eyes are burning. "And I’m really sorry that it’s not easy," Sam continues, his voice soft. "I’m here to help you. Everyone in this building is here to help you. Just…give yourself time. Bring a couple of red pens with you when you’re ready to fill out applications. Do a couple of drafts. Do a draft or two drunk. Hell, I’ll help you with those. And when you get that job—whatever the fuck it is—I’ll throw you a party."

Steve clears his throat and looks around the room. No one’s paying attention to them. It saves him some embarrassment, but he also feels like he should buy Sam a speakerphone for when he starts making speeches. “No McDonalds at the party,” he says. Sam laughs and leans back in his chair, a wide smile on his face. “Thanks.”

"It’s my job," Sam says.

"So. SWAT, huh?"


	4. this new bravery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For alfadorisawesome, who requested Thor/Jane "about to hook up with someone who doesn't know." This is my favorite piece so far. <3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was written for the [transvengers assemble](http://transvengersassemble.tumblr.com/) prompt meme, which can be [found here](http://hoosierbitch.tumblr.com/post/107939142063/transvengers-prompt-meme). 
> 
> Giant thanks to shadowen for the beta! All remaining mistakes are my fault.

Jane had never been terribly optimistic about her romantic prospects. It was rare that she found a guy who was a good mix of smart, nice, and _really tall_ , and she was self-aware enough to acknowledge that she was helplessly particular as to her type. It was even rarer that she liked someone who liked her back. She knew that she was nice and pretty enough, but she was also... Well, Darcy said she was a nerd, Eric said she was perhaps overly focused, but most people just settled on 'weird.' Tony Stark had sent her flowers once, but she wanted to be liked for more than just her brain.

(She sent Tony Stark back a cactus. It was a really cool cactus, but he didn't send her anything after that. Darcy had laughed when Jane told her about it.)

So literally running into a guy who checked all her boxes, and seemed more interested in her than in Darcy's considerable cleavage, was an anomaly.

He was also _divine_ , literally and aesthetically, and despite the fact that she had reams of print-outs confirming the reality of his existence, it was still hard to believe that she hadn't made the whole thing up.

The kiss they shared and the way it had made her feel was especially hard to believe. (She made a few 'out of this world' jokes, but only in her own head.)

Then Thor left, and it didn't matter so much.     

She looked for him. She never stopped looking, so it wasn't an entirely pleasant surprise when he came back and saved New York and also the world but didn't call. Or text or write or look into a news camera and declare his undying love (which had seemed _very probable_  when Darcy was getting her drunk in a 'Hurray We're not Dead!' Canadian pub-crawl).

He left again, and she moved to England and tried to give up the fantasy and meet a nice guy.

Then Thor came back _again_ , with his muscles and smile and hair and beautiful eyes, and she got infected with a gravitationally fascinating singularity that nearly killed her and _did_ kill Loki. Romance kind of took a distant second.

They defeated an alien army together, Thor went back to Asgard, and Jane admitted to herself that there wasn't enough Ben & Jerry's on earth to get over him.

He came back a third time--not a pattern that she was eager to encourage--and he kissed her and asked if he could stay and she realized that things had only started to get complicated.

*

Darcy told her to woman up and just tell him. (Darcy had figured it out in about a week, after she asked Jane to pick her up some tampons, and Jane had been so overwhelmed by the aisle of feminine products that she'd bailed and just brought home the latest issue of _Science Today_.)

Because it wasn't only Jane's brain that scared people away (or that attracted Tony Stark). She looked at her closet, at the gaffs and padded bras and over-sized flannel, and avoided looking at herself as best she could. She dressed quickly, resolutely not thinking about how beautiful she'd felt in the flowing Asgardian dress that they'd magiced for her out of thin air. Jeans and a t-shirt were about as sexy as she was capable of being in Earth garb, no matter how much Darcy talked about makeover montages. Anything more complicated and she felt like she was a little boy again, dressed in her mom's clothing and being yelled at.

"Jane?" Thor's voice, even through the door--the door to her big bedroom in her nice apartment, a far cry and a serious promotion away from her crowded trailer--was warm and deep.

"Coming," she said, shoving her feet into beat-up tennis shoes and running a brush through her hair.

She opened the door, and Thor was there, wearing an outfit of Ian's that left nothing to the imagination. He had muscle groups that she wasn't sure were anatomically possible. "How are you this fine day?"

"Uh," she said, because Thor was the Asgardian Prince Charming, and he was about a foot taller than her, and he was smiling down at her like a beam of actual sunlight, and she was finding it increasingly difficult to form words. "I'm...good?"

"Excellent! Lady Darcy has shown me how to make Bisquick pancakes, that we might break the fast together. Would you do me the honor of partaking in this feast with me?"

"Yes?"

"Excellent," he said, beaming at her and making her knees go weak.

*

He made her breakfast and she took him to a park and he smiled at her, and held her hand, and really listened to her when she talked, and told her fascinating stories about his home and how he saw her world and how she was pretty like a flower.

She pinched herself a couple of times and took some discrete snapshots of him with her phone to make sure it was all real.

When they got home, he hung up his hammer on her coat rack, somehow _not_ destroying both the coat rack and the wall it was fastened to, and kissed her. His hands were about as big as her head, and they were warm, and he tilted his face to meet hers. His skill at kissing was enough to convince her that he was legitimately thousands of years old with the skill to prove it.

He must have kissed a lot of women. Maybe even Sif, who was strong and brave and beautiful and actually in Thor's league.

"We should stop," she said, trying to pull her brain together after he kissed her with tongue, in a way that was way sexier than she'd ever thought it could be. Her lips felt tingly. She was in a romance novel.

Then he pulled back and asked her what was wrong, and there ended the romance novel comparison.

"There's something I should tell you," she said.

He nodded and waited.

She crossed her fingers and hoped that he would keep being real and here and hers. "Please don't hate me," she said in a rush, "but I’m not actually a woman." She felt kind of numb. The door was behind them. She really didn't want Thor to leave.

"Ah," he said. "Would you prefer to switch into your male form before we continue?"

She stared. He lifted an eyebrow. "What?"

"I can wait," he said, "if it takes humans longer to change."

"We--that's not--I don't have a male form. Or, I do, but it's...this." He looked her up and down and frowned. "And I don't like it," she said quickly, because she was pretty sure they were on different pages. Of different books.

"Why would you stay in a body that did not please you?" he asked, sounding lost.

"It's--this isn't--" This wasn't going at all how she had expected. At least he hadn't left. "Humans can't just...switch whenever they want. Or, we can, but it takes years, and hormones, and surgery, and it's--it's really hard." She'd never had enough time to spare. She'd loved science more than she hated her body. Until now.

"Your body is that of a man?" he asked.

"Yes."

"But you do not wish it to be," he said slowly. "And you have not the time and energy to spend on becoming female?"

"That's it in a nutshell."

He frowned. "You would put your gender in a nutshell?"

"No! Well, yes, maybe, if that were an option." She found herself blushing. "I--I have a..." She wished that there was a cool way to say this. "I have a penis."

"So do I," he said proudly.

"Um. That's. That's good."

"I should like to see yours," he offered. "And pleasure you as best I can."

"That's very sweet."

He smiled. "As are you."

"...but I feel like you don't understand what I'm telling you."

He nodded thoughtfully and took a moment before he responded. "I know that there are many differences between your people and ours, both physically and spiritually, and it seems as though this is one of them. I have to confess that I myself have always been happy in this male form. Loki--" His voice broke and he took a deep breath to collect himself. "My brother was sometimes my sister, when the desire hit them. She had many children. Fandral often had nights where he would switch between between female and male forms with every round of mead that was served."

She reached out and put her hands on his biceps. He moved closer and put his hands on her waist. She felt tiny and precious. "I wish that people in our world felt the way you do."

"I wish this also," he said, "as it seems that the way your world works has left you very sad." He leant down and brushed his nose against hers. "The more I get to know you, the more I realize how much I have left to learn." He kissed her, long and soft and lingering, and she felt herself melting against him. Then he pulled away, smiling sadly, and said, "It took me many years to learn that you cannot love what you do not know. I could not bear it, if, through my ignorance, I caused you harm."

"You wouldn't," she said, tightening her grip on him, hoping that he would not walk away.

He kissed her forehead and released her. "I ask you for time," he told her solemnly. "Time and knowledge. Would you help me understand what it is about your body that makes you unhappy, that I may avoid causing you further harm?"

She wasn't sure she knew how. "Are you sure this is necessary?"

He smiled. "I love you. Be sure of that. And know that the only thing stopping me from kissing you until we both lose our breath is because I wish to love you better." He brushed a wayward strand behind her ear. "Will you grant me this?"

She reached up to touch his hair, which was coming loose from his borrowed hairband, and said, "Yes."

*

She bought him a book on transgender identity. Then she gave him a highlighter, and then a rainbow of highlighters, because he kept muttering out loud to himself the parts of the book he wanted to be sure he would not forget.

Darcy, who was 100% on board with getting Thor into Jane's pants, bought them DVDs of _Transamerica_ , _Boys Don't Cry_ , and an amazon pass for season one of _Transparent_.

When Thor finished his book and TV marathon, he came to Jane with questions.

It was new for both of them. Never before had she loved and trusted someone enough to share the private truths of her past.

She told him about the first time she looked at herself in a mirror and realized the didn't like what she saw. The first time she put on a dress, and her parents' anger when they discovered her. The years she spent hating herself and how that changed when she found a community in college. The difficulty of changing her name before she started grad school. How amazing it was to be known only as _Jane_ , not _Jane-who-used-to-be-Jason_.

Thor listened to her and asked careful questions and held her when she cried.

"You are as brave a warrior as any I have fought beside," he told her, and she believed him.

She told Thor that she used to be a man--in body and in the eyes of others, but never to herself--and still, he never saw her as anything other than _Jane_ , as pretty as a flower, brave and smart and strong.

*

The first time they made love, she put on a dress so that he could take it off of her. He drew it from her shoulders inch by careful inch, his lips following the drag of silk across her skin. His hands covered her curves and the narrow planes of her body with ease, the calluses strange and rough. She unwrapped him like a present, laughing with joy at his unselfconscious pride in his body, feeling a reflection of it in growing in herself.

He loved her as she was. Loved her because of who she had been and who she had become. Loved her for her struggle and her strength and her scars. Loved her, in a way that was simple and easy and uniquely Thor.

"I'm glad that we did this," she said, spent and sweaty and sprawled across her mattress and Thor's chest.

"I should hope so," he replied, still a bit breathless.

"No--not the sex. Or, not _just_  the sex," she amended, because she was still shaking slightly with aftershocks. "I'm...I'm glad we took our time."

He took her hand in his and drew it to his mouth, kissing the back of her fingers. "As am I, my Lady Jane. As am I."

With so many words already shared between them, it was a long time before they came up for air long enough to speak again.


End file.
